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Parisian drugs.

Last summer, I brought a friend to Paris with me for a séjour comprised of five days, planning to see all the sights we could possibly cram into that short week. (Despite my going back there every five months or so after moving from France to Britain when I was five, I never took the tine to appreciate the hotspots of the city.) If I’m honest, I’ve always preferred the UK to Paris (something about the ethics and culture) but it was completely different when I brought someone else along for the ride, the famous city being placed under the microscope. It became even clearer that Paris isn’t the picture-perfect fairyland you’ve been lead to believe. Turns out the Eiffel Tower is just a heap of metal and the rats that skitter under the métro tracks aren’t as friendly as the ones Disney sketched out. The aroma of beautiful, artisan coffee is soon replaced by the stench of ashy cigarettes, and trust me, the graffiti hurriedly sprawled on any kind of free space quickly becomes a lot less ‘artistic’ and a lot more distasteful. 
On one particularly hot afternoon, after an unpleasantly sticky métro ride, we spilled out onto the streets of paris and only wandered about 200 metres before I saw a sight that has been burned into my brain since. A homeless man was hobbling past us, his sign in one hand and his other weathered hand desperately clutching a syringe. Now the homeless population of France is disgustingly high and shockingly visible in everday life, so (unfortunately) this wasn’t the aspect of this disturbing sight that shook me so much. I was astounded that he was carrying on something so unsustainable, regardless of whatever position you are in, especially in his situation. Acknowledging that this massive issue could possibly have been the cause of this (financial and emotional) mess to begin with, this was one of the first time I fully began to understand the devastating effects of drug use.

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‘colourblind’ is a sad joke.

Please don’t be colourblind. Be fascinated by the rich tones of my skin. Watch in awe as the sun give my face a glorious sheen. Shiver with pleasure as you contemplate the limitless bounds of race. And in turn, I will marvel at the perfect pallor of your skin. I will wonder endlessly about the flawless canvas which is your colour. And like a child, I will sit wide-eyed, giggling with ecstasy as I come across more and different physical appearances. All different, but all beautiful. So please, don’t be colourblind; rather, embrace the varying features of our amazing species.

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perks of being vegan

I’m often asked why I am a vegan and repeatedly confronted with statements like “I couldn’t do it, I love cheese too much.” Or “There’s no point, it’s impossible for one person to make a difference.”

The truth is, you can do it. If you were allergic or simply pushed yourself hard, we all know you can achieve anything.

And, as a person much smarter than me once said: 

“Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it.”

So why not? I can’t stomach the thought of a cow being pumped drugs and then being torn away from her family to be slaughtered then churned up to make a Big Mac so it can’t possibly be fair for me to eat one.

How can you justify that?

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